


A Catbread Christmas

by der_tanzer



Series: Catbread [26]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Ted and Murray's first Christmas together and the whole family is there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Catbread Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly my sappiest, schmoopiest fic to date. Warnings for excessive sugar and Melba on Quinlan cuteness.  
> 

"Don't be so impatient," Cody said with a knowing grin. As of this point, he was going to be messing with Nick constantly and Nick already knew it. "What are you so excited about, anyway?"

"What am I—? How about getting this damned cast off? That's pretty exciting, isn't it?"

"I don't know. You have big plans for that leg?"

"Yeah, first I'm gonna scratch it for about an hour. Then I'm gonna kick your ass."

"Already? Nick, you know it was your impetuous propensity toward violence that got you into this."

"Never mind the cast; I'll just kick your ass now." But he moved too swiftly toward the dresser, where Cody was still trying to decide on a sweater, and stumbled over one crutch. Cody caught him smoothly, spun him around and deposited him on the bed.

"Now stay there, okay? I'll be ready in five minutes."

"Should've had Murray drive me," Nick muttered. "He at least tries to be on time."

"It's Christmas Eve and Murray's got a houseful of relatives underfoot. Believe me, he doesn't care if you ever get that cast off."

"I guess. Still, you could care. It's not like I have a bunch of people to pick from, here."

"I care. And it's not my fault you don't have a big family. I don't either."

"That doesn't matter. You're all the family I need, Cody."

The blond paused in the act of pulling on his sweater and smiled, pleased by the sudden compliment. Then Nick went on.

"You cook, you pick out my shirts, and you're doing the second shift scratching my leg, so what more do I need?"

"I'm doing the second shift?" he repeated, one eyebrow cocked dangerously.

"Yeah, eight p.m. to four a.m. You know, so I can get some sleep."

"You're lucky you're so cute, Nick Ryder, or I wouldn't scratch anything at all. Here, wear your jacket. It's cold outside."

Nick put it on without rising and then let Cody help him up. He hopped and hobbled up the stairs, used his crutches for the five steps it took to cross the salon, and then submitted for the last time to being half carried over the rail. In less than two hours he'd be walking back here on his own, and it couldn't happen soon enough for either of them.

***

"Here, Mama, let me do that," Murray said, taking the roasting pan from her. "Get the door?"

She opened the oven and he slid the ham in, pausing to kiss her cheek as he straightened up. His family had gotten to town yesterday and his mother had been in the kitchen ever since. She'd baked cookies and pies from scratch, concocted a fruit salad that was little more than an excuse to cover marshmallows with Cool Whip, and made more deviled eggs than there were demons in the pit. The ham was for today; she was thawing a turkey for Christmas dinner and didn't care at all about the mountain of leftovers that would result.

"Are your friends coming over today?" she asked, moving to the sink where dirty dishes waited.

"Um—I don't think so. They're going to have their little celebration tonight and then come over here in the morning. Nick's been hinting around that Ted has a big surprise for me. I guess he's been hiding it on the boat."

"That's sweet. Where is Ted, anyway?"

"I don't know. He said he had something to do." What he'd really said was that nobody liked nosy geeks, but Murray had learned to translate. Melba and their father had gone out, too, saying they had some last minute shopping to do, but he suspected they were just dodging kitchen duty. That hypothesis was blown up when his mother asked him with studious calm if he was happy. He remembered then that this was how they did it. She got the others out of the way, then pinned him down and gently, but forcefully, extracted information.

"Well, yes. I'm very happy, Mama. Why do you ask?"

"You're my son, Scooter. Can't I ask a simple question?"

"Sure, Mama. Anything you want. But can't you see it?" He put his arm around her shoulders and eased her away from the sink. "Sit down and tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing, I guess. We just don't hear from you very often anymore, and we—I—just want to know for sure. That you're happy."

"Well, I am. It's been a tough year, but things are good now. I should have called more often, I know, but we've been so busy. With Nick's accident, and Ted and me negotiating to buy the store, and planning our grand opening next month—honestly, it hardly seems like a week since you were last here."

"Sweetie, that was six months ago."

"I said it _seems_ like a week. Is that why you came, Mama? To check up on me?"

"We came because it's Christmas. But we did want to check up, I guess. The last time we were here you were just moving in together, and you were hurt and it was such a stressful time. I'm your mother and I needed to see for myself that you were settled in and—happy."

"Oh, Mama. Did you think that I'd stay with Ted if I wasn't?"

"I hope not, sweetie," she said, and he knew something harsh was coming. His mother hardly ever called him that, and now she'd said it twice in two minutes. "I've always worried about you. You're strong in so many ways; going off to school at such a young age, and joining the Army, and moving out here where you didn't know a soul. But you're fragile, too, and he's so—so _hard_. I like Ted, I really do," she said quickly, forestalling his defense, "but he seems like the kind of tough man who would choose a partner he could dominate. And when we don't hear from you, we worry that maybe he's, I don't know…"

"Controlling me? Isolating me from my friends and family?" he suggested gently. "No, Mama. Oh, you're right about some of it. He is hard in a lot of ways, and tough. And a little domineering. But he really doesn't control me. Did—did Nick say something like that to you?"

"No, but I didn't ask. When he called, he just said you were missing us and—well—Ted didn't want to go to Chicago."

"Oh," he said, smiling with relief. "That's right, Ted wasn't too keen on going, but just because he's a little intimidated by all of us together. He's insecure about his lack of education, and kind of worried that our family might look down on him. But he was willing to go to make me happy; it wasn't a big deal."

"I hoped it was something like that. Nick said it would be a good surprise, and they were so adamant about buying our plane tickets, we were afraid they were trying to get us out here for a reason."

"What, like an intervention?"

"Maybe. I don't know, sweetie. Parents just worry. And you might be in your thirties, but you're still my little boy."

"And he's a grown man who might be taking advantage of me?"

"I didn't say that."

"And I appreciate it. I love you, Mama." He stood up and kissed her on top of the head, as she had kissed him a hundred thousand times when he was a child. She turned in her chair to watch him as he rolled up his sleeves and resumed washing the dishes.

"Murray, would you tell us if it wasn't working out?"

"I wouldn't have to. You'd figure it out when I moved back to the boat."

"So you have a contingency plan?"

"I suppose. The guys have always said I'm welcome to come back, but I don't think they expect me to. They see me every day; they know I'm happy."

"All right, I'll stop fussing at you, then. Did I tell you what Uncle Elmo did just before Thanksgiving?"

"I don't think so. How's he doing?"

The subject changed, Marta told him a very funny story about Elmo's attempt to change the furnace filter without turning it off first. Aunt Jean was the only one who still didn't find it amusing, but she'd had to vacuum the drapes and mop the ceiling when he was done.

Murray was peeling vegetables and listening avidly to the gossip from home when Quinlan came in. He slipped up behind Murray and squeezed the back of his neck with a cheerful, "Hey, geek-o."

"Lieutenant," Murray said, dropping his mother a wink. "What've you been up to?"

"What did I tell you about being nosy? And don't go poking around in the trunk of the car, either. Hi, Marta. You keeping the kid busy?"

"He likes to help his mama. Did you have a good time sneaking around doing whatever you were doing?"

"Yeah, I did. Where's the rest of the family?"

"Off sneaking around," Murray grinned. "I'm surprised you didn't run into them."

"Well, I was pretty sneaky." He released Murray's neck with a light caress and leaned back against the counter beside him. "You two gonna spend all day in the kitchen, or is there any chance of getting either of you to relax and enjoy your holiday?"

"Oh, I'm enjoying myself plenty, Ted. Just being with my son is enough, but he's so sweet, he lets me feel useful, too. Although not at the moment, of course."

"Yeah, he's a good boy," Quinlan said with a wicked little grin.

"You're terrible, Ted. Murray, how do you put up with him?"

"He's a good boy, too, in his way. Lieutenant, do you want some broccoli?"

"Does anyone?" he asked and Murray gave him a reproving frown. "Sure, why not. Rather have celery, though."

"We've got that, too. In the fridge." It was a statement that sounded vaguely like an order and Ted went to get it. Had it been a real order he would not have, but everyone knew it, so it was okay.

***

Matthew and Melba came home while Murray and Marta were making supper, empty-handed and smiling with secrets. Murray put the tray of vegetables and dip on the table and listened to them talk about their day while he sliced the ham.

Melba went on and on about the malls and the sales and all the great things she'd missed, having been in Peru for most of the last year. They'd gone to a movie, _The Three Amigos_, and she told him all the details. He and Ted would probably watch it on TV some day, when it was the eight o'clock movie on channel twelve, but he didn't mind hearing about it now since the telling gave her so much joy.

After supper, Murray put on his Santa hat and helped Ted put up the tree that had been waiting in the garage since yesterday. It was exactly the sort of tree he would have expected the lieutenant to bring home, full and even and just the right size for its corner of the living room. Then he told Murray to stay inside while he and Matthew brought the decorations from the car. It was their first Christmas tree so everything was new, the lights untangled and the tinsel crisp, and while there were a lot of filler ornaments, identical glass balls of every color, there were a few that were obviously intended to mean something in the future. The kind of ornaments they would look at while decorating another tree together in ten or fifteen years and say_ Remember this one? It's from our first Christmas_. One of those was a small holly wreath made of painted wire, intricate and fine, with the year, 1986, on a red banner across the top. Another was a small ceramic cat, an orange striped tabby in a Santa hat with a jingly bell on its collar. Murray could imagine a new cat every year, a lifetime of kitty ornaments filling some future tree, and kissed Ted as he hung it up.

"What was that for?" he asked gruffly, trying hard not to smile. After all this time, it still embarrassed him to be caught in an affectionate act by Murray's family.

"For bringing me a cat, of course. I know they were hers at first, and then you shared them with her, and now you're sharing them with me. I think that's really—really sweet."

"You do?" Melba asked, her curiosity overwhelming her sense of propriety. "Because I've noticed that a lot of—well, most _girls_, at least, don't want to share anything that used to belong to an ex-wife or girlfriend."

"You haven't noticed yet that he ain't a girl?" Quinlan asked, smiling openly now. No one knew it, but Murray's little speech was about the best thing he could have said right then.

"Remember, I'm the one who grew up with him, Ted. I'm just trying to figure out if this is a Murray thing or a guy thing."

"I think it's a guy thing," Murray said seriously, pushing the fleece hat back from his eyes. "I'm not jealous of his ex-wife; I know he doesn't want her back. Men, I've noticed, live more in the present. And if the things that used to be meaningful to _them_ are now meaningful to _us_. that just reinforces the fact that I—well, that I've replaced her."

"That's very mature of you, Scooter," she said, and everyone laughed. "And I like the cats. They're a lot better than your microchip collection, and those nineteenth century fountain pens."

"Fountain pens?" Ted repeated.

"I went through a phase where I was into writing instruments," he shrugged. "It really is very interesting, the evolution of writing. When I was seven, my grandfather gave me his first pen, the one he used in elementary school around the turn of the century, and I just got hooked. There's a direct link, you know, a straight line from pens to typewriters to computers. It all fits together."

"Let's not get him started on this, please," Quinlan said, handing him another glass ball. "I don't want to spend the evening getting a lecture on the history of pens."

"No, your lectures on jailhouse psychology are so much more interesting," Murray grinned.

"More useful, for sure. Saved your ass, didn't I?"

"More than once, I suspect. Is this all of them?"

"All that it needs, don't you think? Nothing worse than an overdressed tree."

"Oh, so the rest are, what, extras?" Murray teased.

"Well, you know how they get broken. Here, there's a star for the top. You want to put it on?"

Murray took the star, covered with dull colored lights that would twinkle brightly when it was plugged in. He turned and offered it to his father, a sign of respect that did not go unappreciated. But it wasn't his home, or his milestone holiday, and he gracefully refused. Murray placed the star and Ted ran the cord down the trunk, plugging it into the extension cord with the rest of the lights. Then he plugged in the extension and stepped back, lulled by the moment into taking Murray's hand, in spite of the witnesses. No one said anything, of course.

It was a beautiful tree.

***

_How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ was on and they watched that instead of the nightly testosterone movie, drinking spiked eggnog and eating Deb's snickerdoodles and sugar-sprinkled reindeer cookies. Quinlan had claimed the recliner and Murray sat on the floor between his feet, one arm wrapped loosely around Ted's lower leg, his chin resting on the sturdy knee.

"You and your cartoons, kid," he said fondly. "What's on next, the Charlie Brown Christmas special?"

"Uh-huh. You're going to watch it with me, right?"

Murray didn't see the looks his parents exchanged, but he would have understood if he had. Ted saw it and combed his fingers lightly through Murray's hair. It was answer enough to both.

After Charlie Brown was over, _A Christmas Story_ came on and Melba stayed to watch it while their parents went back to the motel. She meant to stay only until the end of the movie and then join their folks, but when she fell asleep on the sofa, Murray covered her with a blanket and turned out the lights.

"We're letting her stay?" Quinlan whispered as they went to their room.

"Why not? When we were kids we used to sleep in the living room every Christmas Eve so we could wake up and look at the tree."

"Made it kinda hard for Santa, didn't it?"

"He always managed," Murray said with a smile.

***

The clock read twelve after three when Murray woke, wide-eyed and alert. He sat up carefully and looked around to see what had disturbed him. Ted still slept beside him, taking his well-earned rest after a long day in the city, and, more recently, a little quiet frottage. Murray slid out of bed and put his robe on over his pajamas, being careful not to wake him. He stepped out into the living room and closed the door behind him, still looking for the thing that had woken him. What he found was Melba lying on the floor under the tree, staring up into the lights as they used to do when they were young.

"Baba?" he whispered, kneeling beside her.

"Hi, Scooter. Did I wake you?"

"I don't know. Something did. Mind if I join you?"

"I'd love that. It's such a beautiful tree, Murray. But I didn't mean to fall asleep here, you know. I told myself I wouldn't; I didn't want to get in the way of whatever private celebration you guys might have planned. But I'm not sorry. I'm glad we're together on Christmas Eve again."

"I am, too," he said, stretching out beside her. He folded his left arm behind his head and slid his right around her neck. Melba eased closer and snuggled into his shoulder. "And you're not in the way. You think the lieutenant would let a little thing like my sister being in the house stop him?"

"I guess not. Have I told you yet how happy I am for you? Everything here, your whole life, is just—it's everything I wanted for you."

"It is?" he laughed, thinking of the solid weight of Ted's body, his strong, calloused hands and the way his kisses could go from hungry to tender and back again in seconds. It wasn't what he used to think he wanted for himself.

"Oh, Mama's worried, but that's her job. I think Ted's adorable, and you're so happy—it's the sweetest thing ever. I always wanted to see you settled down with someone who loves you as much as you deserve."

"What about you, Baba? When are you going to settle down?"

"I don't know. There's a Peruvian prince named Timchuk who's offering twenty cows and a whole flock of sheep for my hand, but I don't know if I want to commit to a life on another continent. And Daddy doesn't really want the livestock."

"Do you love him?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "I guess that means I don't. Not like Mom and Dad, or you and Ted. Not like I think I should love the man I marry. I'm just having such a good time, Scooter, traveling and exploring and not being tied down."

"As long as you're happy, that's all I care about."

"You're sweet, Murray. Mama wants grandkids, though, and she's not as patient as you. I might have to do something about that."

"I guess I kind of set you up for that," he said, rubbing her arm lightly.

"I hope you don't feel bad about it. I'll settle down some day. I'll have kids and Christmas trees and all these things, and you'll be cool Uncle Murray that everyone loves."

"I'll never be cool, Baba. We'll have to leave that up to Ted. If the kids aren't scared of him."

"I'm sure they'd that see he's all talk," she laughed. "Kids are great at that."

"Yeah, and yours would be extra smart. I could be a little bit cool, too, teaching them about computers and handing down my fountain pen collection."

"Murray, you wouldn't," she cried and it was his turn to laugh. They tried to hush each other, Melba turning to cover his mouth with one hand, but it was too late. The bedroom door opened and Quinlan came out, trying to look stern.

"What are you two doing?" he asked, sounding so much like their father that they cracked up again.

"We're looking at the tree," Murray said, when he had some kind of control. "Come and join us, Lieutenant. It's really beautiful."

"It's cold," he said and went to the sofa to get the blanket Melba had been sleeping under. He spread it over them both before lying down, his body at a right angle to theirs, and putting his head on Murray's chest. Murray draped his left arm across him and Quinlan began to massage it automatically, his hands finding the knife scars from long practice.

"Aren't you cold?" Murray asked and felt him shrug. Quinlan was wearing the sweats and t-shirt he slept in, when he wore anything at all, but it was beneath his dignity to admit that he felt the chill. He would argue all day that he and Murray were equals, but when they were cold or hungry or sick, he always put Murray first and brooked no argument.

Melba reached over and rubbed his thinning hair playfully, making him laugh against his will.

"Don't mess with me, sister," he growled, which only made her sit up and kiss his forehead.

"Thanks for looking after my big brother, you old grouch."

"Save it for the Peruvians, chickie," he said, shoving her away with remarkable gentleness. She cuddled back down against Murray's side, but her right hand crept over his belly to rest on Quinlan's shoulder. He patted it lightly, then went back to massaging Murray's arm under the twinkling lights.

***

There was a knock at the door at seven, waking Ted, who was always the lightest sleeper. He put Murray's arm aside and stood, stretching and yawning, watching with affection as the Bozinskys moved closer together in their sleep. Then he got his robe from the bedroom and went to the door.

"Good morning, folks. Sorry, we all slept late, I guess."

"No, we're early," Marta said cheerfully. "I wanted to start that turkey, and we—well, when Melba didn't come back to the motel—it was too late to call here, and we were sure she must have stayed…"

"But you wanted to check up," he said sympathetically. "Yeah, she fell asleep watching TV and it was too late to call you."

"Look at them," Matthew said, nodding at the pair curled under the tree. "Just like when they were kids."

"Yeah, I found them there a few hours ago. Cute as a box of kittens, ain't they? Marta, you go ahead and get started in the kitchen if you want to. I'll get Murray up and he'll lend a hand."

The younger Bozinskys were blurry eyed and groggy for a moment, but Christmas had always worked a special magic on them and it did again. In a couple of minutes they were wide awake and full of energy. Melba went back to the motel to change her clothes while Ted and Murray showered and dressed, and Marta made their breakfast. By the time they were all together around the table it was after eight, and they were just finishing their pancakes when Nick and Cody arrived. It was the first time Murray had seen Nick since he got his cast off and that alone was enough to make his day.

"Hey, guys, merry Christmas," he said happily. "Nick, you look so good. How do you feel? Do you want some pancakes? There's some batter left; it would just take a minute."

"I'm fine, Boz," Nick smiled. "Doesn't even hurt today. And we already had breakfast. We've got your present out in the car and you don't want to wait, do you?"

"You left it in the car?" Ted exclaimed, leaping up from the table.

"You wanted to give it to him yourself, didn't you?" Cody asked, laughing at his agitation. "We couldn't just walk in here with it, could we?"

"All right, I'll go get it. You lock the doors?"

"No, go right ahead. It's on the back seat." Nick and Cody were both laughing as Quinlan hurried outside, leaving Murray to wait and wonder. No one else knew what the big surprise was and Melba was almost as excited as her brother. All of the other gifts were under the tree by now, but this one must be special. Maybe even special enough to be worthy of their first real Christmas together, though no one could imagine what that might be.

Quinlan was back in less than a minute, carrying a medium sized, unwrapped cardboard box in both arms. The flaps were folded together and tied with a broad red ribbon, but Murray thought he saw it move. Quinlan told him to sit down and handed him the box.

"Lieutenant, you didn't," he said, grinning widely. He knew what it was as soon as the box touched his knees, and hurried to untie the bow. "After all your arguing and complaining, you go and do this." As soon as the ribbon fell away, the flaps loosened and a small white paw poked out. Murray scrambled to open the box as a second paw appeared and tried to help. He lifted the kitten free, amazed at how small it was, and cradled it to his chest when it started to cry.

"It's so tiny," Melba cried, thoroughly enchanted. "Is it even old enough to leave its mother?"

"Yeah, it's seven weeks old. He's—well, he's kinda the runt of the litter. They were sayin' how nobody wanted him, and he'd probably end up being put down and—I guess they got to me. He's cute enough, isn't he?"

"He's adorable," Murray said, trying to hold the kitten away enough to see its face. It mewed plaintively and he snuggled it to his chest again where the sound of his heartbeat seemed to soothe it. "I love him, Ted, thank you. But I thought you didn't want a cat?"

"You wanted one," he shrugged. "And it's orange. I like orange cats."

"Like the breadbox. Does he have a name?"

"Not yet. He's your cat, you name him."

Murray looked at the tiny creature huddled in his hands, holding it away from his body for just a few seconds. Big gold eyes stared up at him, the orange striped face marked with a white streak that ran like a tear track from the inside of the left eye down to the round white chin. The kitten mewed again, reaching out with one paw to try and snag his shirt, the other paw curled under its chest. Murray looked it over carefully, then held it close again. The small head burrowed into his shirt and the kitten began to purr.

"He sure likes you, Scooter," Melba cooed, stroking the little bit of fur that showed between Murray's fingers.

"He just likes the body heat, and he probably finds the sound of my heartbeat or breathing comforting. He'd like anyone just as much."

"I don't know about that," Cody laughed. "Nick had a terrible time with him on the boat. He hardly stopped crying the whole time."

"Nick or the kitten?"

"Well, the kitten at first, but after Nick went a couple nights without sleep, he got pretty fussy, too."

Nick gave Cody a look, asking not to be ridiculed in front of guests, and Cody kissed his forehead as if begging forgiveness.

"Gee, guys, that was awfully nice of you, putting up with a sad kitten just to surprise me."

"Cody's exaggerating, as usual," Nick said. "It wasn't that bad. I'm not saying I want a cat of my own, but it was kind of nice having him around. So, what are you gonna call him?"

"I think—Catloaf. He _does_ look a lot like the breadbox, after all."

"More like a muffin than a loaf," Quinlan said. "But he'll probably grow."

"Probably. But not if we don't feed him. Where are we going to get cat food today? And he'll need a litterbox—"

"I got all that stuff out in car. All part of the surprise, kid."

Murray looked up at him with that bright smile, all sunlight and joy, and Ted had no choice but to kiss him in front of everyone. There were sentimental sighs and a little friendly laughter, but for a change Ted didn't care. He knew he'd done well and deserved the praise.

***

There were other gifts exchanged that morning; sweaters and books and meaningful bits of jewelry. Murray gave Ted his dog tags on a silver chain, a symbol of the war they had shared without knowing it, as well as the one they were sharing now, and Ted concealed his moist eyes in a rough and manly hug. But the kitten was a greater symbol, a living thing to be nurtured and loved, and when he began pouncing on and tearing up the wrapping paper, Catloaf cemented his place as the center of the household. He cried when Murray tried to leave him behind at dinnertime and so got to sit in his lap at the table, although he didn't get anything to eat.

After dinner, they gathered in the living room to watch a series of favorite Bozinsky holiday movies: _Miracle on 34th Street, A Christmas Carol, It's a Wonderful Life_, and, of course, _A Christmas Story_. That one always seemed to be on. But Melba didn't fall asleep on their sofa this time. She went back to the motel at ten, which was early for her and late for the 'old folks', but a suitable compromise for both. Nick and Cody left shortly after, being sure to say goodbye to Catloaf, who was already acting like he didn't know them. He seemed to understand that he was home now, that nothing that came before mattered, and he'd already written off the men who'd cared for him the last three days. Or maybe he remembered that they'd put him in a box and just wasn't the forgiving type.

"You really like him?" Quinlan asked as they undressed for bed. He'd given Murray a set of silk pajamas, too, and Murray was debating whether or not to put them on while Catloaf sat on the bed and watched.

"Do I—of course I do. I love him, Ted. He's so—orange. And that little tear track on his face, like he's sad, even though he's so cute—I can't believe they were going to put him down."

"Aw, hell, they probably just said that so I'd take him. People trying to unload kittens are more manipulative than call girls trying to beat a bust. But he _is_ cute. Almost as cute as you." Quinlan took the silk pajama top out of Murray's hands and backed him up against the bed.

"In front of the kitten?" Murray teased as Quinlan pushed him down.

"Good point." He picked up Catloaf and set him in the cushioned basket by the bed, the same one that he'd slept in on the boat. There was one pleading mew that even Murray ignored and then the kitten was quiet. He'd probably learned the futility of trying to interrupt these moments during his stay with Nick and Cody.

They made love slowly, tenderly, touching and tasting, concentrating more on being close and sharing each other's pleasure than feeding their own passion. Ted came first, pulsing against Murray's belly, his face buried in the arch of that slender neck, and kept moving with him until he followed, sobbing and gasping for breath. When Ted tried to pull away, Murray held onto him, feeling safe and loved beneath the solid weight of his body and wanting to prolong it. He wanted to prolong everything about this day.

"You gotta let go sometime, baby. If you want to keep breathing, that is."

"I never want to let go," Murray whispered, his legs tightening around Ted's hips.

"You never really will. I won't either. But there's a furry little animal clawing my back and I don't think I can take it much longer."

"There's a what?" He craned his neck to look over Ted's shoulder, and sure enough, there was Catloaf. Somehow he'd managed to climb the mattress and was now making himself at home in the small of Quinlan's back, reminding Murray of nothing so much as the cartoon kitten who adopted the bulldog. "All right, I give up," Murray laughed, releasing him and lifting Catloaf free so Ted could turn over. Murray set the kitten on his chest and Catloaf migrated up to the base of his throat, curling warmly over his strongest pulse point.

"He sure is your cat," Quinlan said as the kitten began licking the sweat from Murray's neck.

"He's _our_ cat, Lieutenant. And possibly the best gift ever. I wish I knew how to thank you."

"You already did. It's just a free kitten, baby," he demurred, but his tone said he was pleased. He slid his arm around Murray's shoulders and eased him closer without disturbing Catloaf.

"Good things don't have to be expensive. And he's more than that, you know. He's the living legacy of the Catbread People."

"You're so weird."

"I know. But that's why you love me, right?"

"One of many reasons. Merry Christmas, geek-o."

"Merry Christmas, Lieutenant."


End file.
